


My Valentine

by CaiaCaecilia



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaiaCaecilia/pseuds/CaiaCaecilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's taking an interest in Kent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: - My Valentine  
Author: - Caia Caecilia  
Rating: - M  
Characters: - Kent, Chandler, Miles, Buchan, Riley, Mansell  
Pairing: - Kent/OC  
Warnings: - Non/con  
Feedback: - Yes, please  
Disclaimer: - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Author’s Note:- A new fandom for me, hope you like it .

My Valentine – Chapter 1

It began on Valentine’s Day. 

A dull day spent stuck in the office in front of his computer completing endless amounts of paperwork. Hours spent staring at the screen making his eyeballs ache, eyelids heavy, a headache throbbing at both temples. Of course the day hadn’t been made any easier by Mansell deciding it was officially ‘take the piss out of Kent day’. Had he got any Valentine’s cards, was he too shy to tell them, on and on. Emerson was used to some ragging from his team-mates, it came with the job, it came with being the youngest. But this hurt. There was someone. Someone who made his stomach flip and his heart skip a beat with just a look, just a smile. Someone who didn’t seem to feel the same way. Someone who saw him as just a colleague, just a subordinate, worse still - just a kid. 

Until today he’d fooled himself that he’d managed to keep his feelings secret. Then the DI had walked past his desk on the way to his office deep in conversation with DS Miles and Emerson had felt his eyes drawn to the tall, slim figure, and he had let himself watch...just for a moment. That’s when he’d heard the snigger from behind him and had turned to see Mansell smirking at him and winking just before Riley had elbowed him and whispered something which had made Mansell turn away, grinning. Riley had then given him a sympathetic smile and Emerson had felt his cheeks flush with shame and his heart sink as he realised that his feelings weren’t a secret anymore.

Pushing open the door to his flat he didn’t notice the blue envelope on the floor until he stepped on it. Bending down he realised it was a card as soon as he picked it up. The envelope was blank, no name, no address, so hand delivered then. Despite himself Emerson couldn’t help a little thrill of excitement as he ripped the envelope open and pulled the card out. It had a large red heart on the front and a tumble of red fell to the floor as he opened it, a flurry of rose petals slipping out from inside the card to land at his feet. Looking at the handwritten message inside Emerson felt disappointment settle heavy in his stomach when he didn’t see the well-known neat script of his DI but instead an almost-scrawl running across the inside of the card, black ink looping and whirling out the words,

“You will be mine”.

A little frown creased Emerson’s forehead. Wasn’t it supposed to be a question, “Will you be mine?” Not this statement which seemed to leave little room for disagreement.

He wondered who it could be from. Maybe the pretty, blonde who had moved in across the road a couple of months before and who had smiled and blushed when he’d said,

“Good morning”, 

to her the week before. 

Still feeling the ache of disappointment Emerson put the card onto the bookcase in the living room and despite himself he couldn’t stop a little smile from flitting across his face. Even if it wasn’t who you wished it was, it was still nice to have an admirer.

Exactly a week later he came home to find a teddy bear neatly wrapped in cellophane and ribbons on his doorstep, sitting in a puddle of red rose petals and holding a note saying, 

“You will be mine”.

Early the next morning he realised his secret admirer wasn’t the pretty blonde from across the road when he saw her kissing her girlfriend goodbye at her garden gate.

Exactly a week later his plan to have a lie-in on his day off was ruined by brisk knocking at his door at half past eight in the morning. Upon opening the door a man in a brown UPS uniform, a parcel at his feet, thrust an electronic pad at him muttering,

“Sign and print.”

Practically snatching the devise back from Emerson the delivery man hurried off jumping into his van which was parked on the double yellow lines outside, hazard lights blinking orange, and drove off before Emerson had even bent down to pick the parcel up. Grunting with effort he was surprised at how heavy it was. Taking it into the living room he eyed it and wondered what his secret admirer had sent him this time. He knew it was from them because of the now familiar handwriting stating his name and address on the side of the parcel next to the “fragile” and “this way up” stickers which adorned the parcel’s sides.

Pulling open the top Emerson at first peered in, and then reached in, pulling out first one then two and finally six bottles of wine. As each bottle was pulled out a little shower of red petals came out with it and Emerson sighed at the sight of the rose petals on his carpet. It may be romantic but he was getting a little fed up having to clean them up every time. Once again there was a note,

“You will be mine.”

But no hint who had sent the parcel and Emerson wondered if his mystery admirer would ever reveal themselves to him, and if they did how they would do it. Carrying a couple of bottles at a time Emerson took the wine out to the kitchen and placed the bottles in a line on the work surface next to the toaster. He didn’t really know anything about wine and rarely drank it, but the labels looked fancy and the bottles had corks not screw tops so he guessed they were expensive. 

Exactly a week later he couldn’t wait to hurry home after his shift turning down the invitation from Riley for,

“A pint and a packet of Pork Scratchings down the pub.”

He was a little surprised at how disappointed he was when he arrived home and there was no present sitting on his doorstep, and no envelope lying on the hallway floor. Maybe it was over. Maybe his admirer had found someone else whose floor they would litter with rose petals. While he had his own secret infatuation at work wondering who his secret admirer was and, what present he’d receive next, had taken his mind off his unrequited feelings for his DI.

Sighing Emerson hung up his coat and paused at the kitchen door trying to decide if he wanted some cheese on toast before a shower and then bed. A yawn made up his mind for him and he walked into the bedroom to get together a change of clothes and some fresh towels. Flipping on the bedroom light shock made him take a step backwards until his back collided with the door jam. Scattered across his bed were dozens of photos and what looked like hundreds of red rose petals. Moving forward, his mind numb he looked down at the photos and saw that they were all of him. Pictures of him leaving his flat in the morning, leaving the station with Riley his head thrown back laughing at something she’d said, shopping in Sainsbury’s, closing his bedroom curtains, glancing towards the bedroom window he wondered if he was being watched, photographed, at that very moment. Rushing to the window he jerked the curtains closed so fast he nearly wrenched the curtain rail from the wall. Someone had been watching him, photographing him, someone had been in his flat. 

Suddenly he realised that somebody could still be in his flat.

TBC – 28/03/2012


	2. Chapter 2

My Valentine – Chapter 2

His flat wasn’t very big so searching through it, cricket bat in hand as an impromptu weapon, hadn’t taken too long. There was no one lurking in the shadows, in the cupboards or under the bed but the thought of a stranger being in his personal space made Emerson’s flesh creep. He checked all the windows and the back and front doors but there was no sign of a break in, which left him with the uncomfortable conclusion that whoever had got in, whoever his secret admirer, or rather stalker, was, had a key. The only theory he could come up with to account for that was if the couple who had lived in the flat before him had taken a set of keys with them and had either lost, or given them to someone, or they had let someone who lived nearby have a set of keys while they lived here, perhaps to look after the place when they went on holiday and that person still had the key. The latter theory seemed the most logical which meant his stalker probably lived close by and was watching him, which was evidenced by the photos left on his bed.

First things first, he wanted every trace of the sicko who was targeting him out of his flat. Emerson got a couple of carrier bags from the kitchen and cleaned off his bed. Rose petals and the photos, methodically torn up, placed in the bags and they were then dumped in the bin outside and quickly joined by the teddy bear, unopened bottles of wine and the torn up Valentine card. Emerson slammed the door shut when he’d finished and wondered if he’d been watched, maybe even photographed, while he’d been dumping the things in the bin. Creepy as the thought was Emerson almost hoped so, because then maybe the perv would leave him alone.

Emerson walked into his bedroom and looked at the bed and shuddered, all thoughts of sleep banished for the moment. On an impulse he went over to the bed and quickly stripped the bedding off and going to the kitchen he stuffed it all into the washing machine and put it on a boil wash. Going to the living room he flopped down onto the sofa and scrubbed his hands over his face wondering what he should do next. Should he report what had happened? He knew he should, he knew it was the sensible thing to do, but the thought of the mickey-taking he’d have to put up with from the likes of DC Finlay Mansell made him hesitate. The team already treated him like a kid sometimes, Riley’s mother-hen mode activated if he got so much as a scratch at work, and he knew that was how the DI thought of him. He knew that when Chandler looked at him he saw that Kent was younger, less experienced, even naive sometimes, and if Emerson wanted that to change, for Chandler to look at him and see an equal he needed to prove himself. He wouldn’t do that, he decided, if he ran to his team with every little problem, he needed to solve this one himself. Hopefully he’d sent a clear message tonight that he wasn’t interested, but just in case he’d phone into work tomorrow and plead sickness and get a locksmith around to change the locks and maybe he’d pop out to B&Q and pick up a bolt for the front door. Thinking about that and beginning to feel tired Emerson got up and did a circuit around the flat going from room to room checking the windows one more time and making sure that the back door was locked and bolted. The front door was locked but that hadn’t proved to be much of a barrier so he pulled the bookcase from the living room into the hallway and pushed it against the door, it would do for tonight. He then went back into the living room and lay down on the sofa for a restless and intermittent night’s sleep.

Emerson was tense for the whole next week waiting to see if he’d be sent another present or perhaps some form of retribution as punishment for his rejection. He wasn’t sleeping well, jerking awake at the slightest noise and having difficulty getting back to sleep once awoken. He knew his team was starting to notice something was wrong. Riley was fussing around him asking him if he was unwell, giving him concerned glances when she thought he wasn’t looking. She’d even brought him in a container filled with lamb casserole the day before, saying she’d accidently made too much and that he was getting thin and pale and needed feeding up, and then she’d slapped Mansell across the back of the head when he’d whined that she hadn’t brought him any. Even DS Miles had stopped by his desk earlier that day and had paused before asking,

“You alright Kent?”

He had walked away looking unconvinced after Emerson had put on his best smile and assured the sergeant that he was fine.

Tonight was the night, exactly a week since he’d found the sick love tokens left by his secret admirer on his bed. He’d put off going home for as long as he could, shuffling paperwork, walking from desk to desk with a wastepaper basket picking up the rubbish, making sure everything in the room was tidy, just as he knew Chandler liked it. Finally deciding he couldn’t stay at the station all night he pulled on his coat and paused at the doorway looking back at the DI’s office where the light was still on and he knew Chandler was bent over some file or other making sure all the ‘i’s’ were dotted and the ‘t’s’ crossed. For a moment Emerson considered knocking on the DI’s door and telling him everything, but he thought of the slightly uncomfortable look the DI would give him when he started to talk about his personal life to him and then the sympathetic look he’d get when he explained what had happened, and Emerson decided he couldn’t face it if the DI looked at him with pity so he turned on his heel and left for home. 

There was nothing on the doorstep and no envelopes on the hallway floor. Going from room to room he sighed with relief when he saw everything was exactly as he’d left it that morning, nothing disturbed, no unexpected and unwanted gifts. Emerson laughed with relief, it seemed as if his secret admirer had gotten the message. Feeling more relaxed than he had for days Emerson decided to have a quick shower before settling down for a beer and some football on the telly, just before he went to the bathroom he popped Riley’s casserole into the oven to heat up.

TBC – 30/03/2012


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: -I own nothing I just borrow the characters to play with.

My Valentine – Chapter 3

Three uneventful weeks past and Emerson began to feel that he’d put the whole secret admirer/stalker episode pretty much behind him. That didn’t mean though that sometimes he didn’t take a quick look around to see if he could spot someone with a camera. Every now and then he’d be out and about, shopping or in the pub with the team, and he’d feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he’d turn and scan the faces of the people around him looking for someone who was staring at him or who looked familiar, there was never anyone there though and Emerson shrugged these episodes off as a bad case of his overactive imagination.

The team’s latest case had been a pretty boring domestic fuelled by the things that domestics were usually fuelled by – too much alcohol and jealousy. Even though it had been pretty open and shut, the wife standing over the husband’s body sobbing with a bread knife in her hand when the uniforms had arrived, it still generated lots of paperwork. On the straightforward cases the team tended to take it in turns as to who had to complete the endless forms and file the witness statements, and today it had been his turn. So he’d worked late, even the DI had gone home before him. At least he’d beaten the rain though. The heavens had opened just as he’d stepped through his front door. The sound of the rain beating against the windows had accompanied him getting ready for bed and as he’d lain there in the darkness drifting off he’d listened to the wind picking up and blowing the rain against the window panes in gusts of sudden violence, and he’d snuggled down deeper into his duvet and had fallen asleep.

Something disturbed him, a noise beyond the rain penetrating his dreams and waking him up. For a second he paused thinking he’d imagined it and was about to turn over and go back to sleep when the sound came again, someone was knocking at his door. Emerson squinted at the red display on his alarm clock, 2:48am, and cursed under his breath. Once again he heard the knocking at his front door and pulling himself out of bed he hissed and muttered,

“Shit”,

as his feet hit the cold wooden floor of his bedroom. His bare feet made a padding noise as he hurried along his hallway flicking on the lights as he went and squinting at the sudden brightness. Reaching up Emerson checked the chain was on before he drew back the bolt and unlocked the front door. Peering through the gap he saw a police uniform and a voice said,

“DC Kent, DI Chandler sent me.”

Instantly coming alert Emerson pushed the door shut and took the chain off. Opening the door he shivered at the blast of cold air that rushed into the hallway and looked at the officer standing on his doorstep. The man was dripping wet a sergeant’s insignia on his jacket’s shoulders and Emerson thought he recognised his face from the station. 

“A couple of bodies have been found just around the corner from here,” the uniformed officer explained, “DI Chandler and DS Miles are both already on scene. DI Chandler sent me here to fetch you.”

“I just need to get dressed.” Emerson said, moving back from the doorway.

The other man made no move to enter the flat seeming content to stand on the doorstep and wait, but Emerson couldn’t leave him standing in the cold and the rain.

“Come in, come in,” he said as he turned and walked towards his bedroom intending to get changed out of the jogging bottoms and tee-shirt he’d worn to bed.

He made it about five steps before a hand wrapped itself around his mouth from behind and he was pulled up tight against the other man’s body, the cold and wet from his front soaking through the back of Emerson’s clothes. 

“I forgive you...you will be mine.” Whispered huskily into his ear.

Before he had a chance to fight back Emerson felt a sharp prick in the top of his right arm and sliding his eyes to the right he saw that a hypodermic needle had been jabbed into his arm. The plunger was being depressed sending a clear liquid into his bloodstream. Panic seized him and he tried shouting, his cries muffled by the large hand clamped over his mouth. Emerson struggled, trying to twist out of the other man’s grip but he was larger and stronger and Emerson felt whatever drug had been injected into him beginning to take effect as his head felt woozy and his legs heavy. Knowing time was growing short desperation made him act and Emerson bit down on the gloved hand that was clamped over his mouth as hard as he could. It was enough. Taken by surprise the other man loosened his grip just long enough for Emerson to twist out of his grasp. However, the drug he’d been injected with was being flooded into his bloodstream by his racing heart and as he tried to make a dash for it towards his bedroom and his mobile phone his legs felt like lead and his head spun. Lurching to the left he collided with the hallway wall sliding along it dislodging the photographs that adorned the wall sending them tumbling to the floor the glass in the frames breaking and littering the floor. Emerson felt the sting of glass slicing into the bottoms of his feet but dismissed it trying to concentrate on putting one foot in front of another, trying to escape. His vision blurring Emerson found he’d gotten turned around and was heading towards his front door, just a few more steps and he’d be outside, he could shout for help. Suddenly he found himself lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling, a blurred face coming into view, looming over him, feeling hands on his shoulders he tried desperately to turn away, to stay awake but the darkness that had been creeping into the edge of his vision suddenly rushed forward and engulfed him.

DI Joe Chandler frowned for the third time that morning when he looked from his desk and through the open door of his office to the empty desk in the other room. DC Kent was late, glancing down at his watch which was carefully laid on his desk; he noted that DC Kent was very late. Chandler noticed Riley on the phone, teeth worrying her lower lip as she held the receiver to her ear and gazed towards Kent’s desk. You didn’t need to be a detective to figure out who she was trying to contact but there’d been no reply on either Kent’s mobile or home phone so far. Worry twisted in Joe’s gut, this wasn’t like Kent he was always so conscientious, usually early, never late. Just then the desk sergeant from downstairs entered the outer office and the expression on his face gave Joe a sinking feeling which clutched at his heart and made his breath hitch in his throat.

Getting up quickly Joe walked out of his office and met the man half way across the room. The room had gone quiet and Joe was aware of every eye upon him and the sergeant. Wasting no time the sergeant said,

“DI Chandler, uniform took a call this morning reporting a break-in. The address, it’s one of your people, DC Kent.”

“A break-in, is Kent alright?” 

Worry still coursed through Joe but if he’d been burgled that could explain Kent’s lateness and the reason he wasn’t answering his phone. He was busy dealing with the police Joe thought...he could be hurt...a voice nagged in the back of his head.

“He’s not there sir, no sign of him.”

Not waiting to hear anymore Chandler turned to his team.

“Come on.” He ordered, already hurrying out of the room towards the car park. He didn’t need to turn around to know his team, Kent’s team, was at his back.

Once at Kent’s flat Joe jumped out of his car followed by DS Miles, the drive here had been made in silence each man caught up in their own thoughts and worries for the youngest member of the team. Joe heard Mansell and Riley following behind as he approached the police officer standing by Kent’s gate. Recognising him the officer stepped forward saying,

“SOCO isn’t here yet sir. It was the postie over there who called it in.” He indicated off to his left where a postman was being questioned by another officer. Joe spared the witness a quick glance before turning back to the policeman who continued, “He came to deliver some post noticed the door wasn’t shut properly and pushed it open. That’s when he saw the blood and called us...”

 

“Blood.” Joe interrupted.

The officer got no further. Joe pushed past him moving quickly towards the open front door. He stopped on the doorstep, careful of the evidence, the detective inside him too much part of him to let him contaminate the crime scene. However, his eyes took in the scene before him, the evidence of a struggle, broken glass, bloody footprints dried on the wooden floor and fear spiked through him.

Thirty-five miles away Emerson Kent opened his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: -I own nothing I just borrow the characters to play with.

My Valentine – Chapter 4  
Consciousness returned in dribs and drabs a soft sound like a body moving close by, making itself comfortable, a sigh, a rustle of pages being turned…someone waiting.  Lying on something soft then a touch light and gentle fingers carding through his hair.  Anxiety gnawed at his slowly returning senses, he felt he should be worried but his focus slipped at every touch, his mind seeking comfort, supplying him with the identity of the person offering him the longed for touch….

“Joe…”

Suddenly the comforting touch was gone and instinctively he sought it out, turning his head in the direction it had been and forcing his eyes open. Blinking he fought to clear the cobwebs from his mind which were making his thinking sluggish and disjointed. The anxiety that lurked in his subconscious rushed to the fore as he realised he didn’t recognise his surroundings and the figure seated next to him was not that of his DI.

Emerson jerked backwards away from the seated man wincing, a gasp escaping his lips at the way his body protested at the sudden movement, but something else grabbed his attention as he tried to move his right wrist. Suddenly pain bit into his flesh and his right shoulder felt wrenched. Turning and looking to his right he saw that his wrist was encircled by a pair of standard police issue handcuffs – one end encircling his wrist while the other was fixed to what he now realised was the head board of a double bed, which he was lying prone on. Knowing intellectually that it was useless, and would hurt, Emerson let his fear over-ride his logic and pulled with all his strength, trying to free himself. Hissing in pain when the metal bit into the skin of his wrist he settled for shuffling himself backwards on the bed as far away from the other man as he could.

The other man, who he recognised as his visitor from the night before had not moved or spoken just scowled at him from his place on a chair positioned by the head of the bed. Suddenly he stood and Emerson couldn't help but shrink back a little as the other seemed to loom over him,

"No, not Joe." The other man spat his lip twisting into cruel smirk, "best to forget about him." The suddenly, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud his expression and body language completely changed and he sat back down in the chair leaning forward towards the bed, one hand raised in a placating gesture, "Don't look so worried, it's alright I won't hurt you. I love you. I have since the first time we met. You were so kind to me, helping me carry my stuff, showing me where the locker room was, and when I thanked you smiled at me and I knew right then that you felt it too...that connection that we had from the first moment."

At the other man's words it all slotted into place for Emerson and he suddenly remembered who the man was. It hadn't been a pretend sergeant's uniform he'd been wearing when he'd knocked on his door in the middle of the night and proceeded to kidnap him, it had been real. This was the new desk sergeant. He'd started a couple of months before Christmas and Emerson could remember the events he'd just described. Coming back late from a crime scene he'd been trailing along behind the rest of his team, the DI and Sergeant Miles deep in conversation while Mansell and Riley shared some private joke and he'd felt excluded from the group, like being back at school and not being 'in' with the cool kids. He'd just been stepping through the station main doors when he’d heard someone behind him and he'd turned to see someone struggling up the steps carrying several boxes. He'd held the door open for the person who’d nodded his thanks and then just as Emerson had been about to turn away to hurry after his team had said, 

"I'm Sergeant Murray, just transferred over from Croydon, could you show me where the locker room is so I can dump my stuff." 

Emerson had been too polite to refuse and had taken one of the boxes from the other man and shown him the locker room and wished him good luck on his first shift. He'd seen the other man about the station a few times after that and had smiled and nodded at him being polite but that was all, there had certainly been no 'connection' as far as he was concerned. Realisation dawning Emerson said,

"You sent the Valentine's card, the presents..."

Murray nodded eagerly, "Yes, yes, who else would it have been but me."

The fear he'd been feeling was suddenly taken over by a sense of outrage and momentarily forgetting his precarious situation Emerson added, "You spied on me, took photos of me, broke into my house..."

"I took your house key out of your desk drawer and made a cast, got a friend to make me a copy, I made sure I didn't damage anything." Murray frowned slightly, "You didn't have to throw everything away...I was trying to be romantic."

"Romantic, romantic," Emerson cried, his voice getting louder, and he rattling the hand cuff around his wrist, "Is this your idea of romantic? Stalking, kidnap, imprisonment. You're a fucking psycho, we hunt people like you!" 

Then realising the implications of that statement he felt some of the bravado drain out of him as he realised he'd seen the what was left of people who'd been in his position, had read the autopsy reports and knew exactly how they'd spent their last moments on earth and what had been done to them in the hours beforehand and suddenly he felt sick.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: -I own nothing I just borrow the characters to play with.

My Valentine – Chapter 5

He really needed to pee – desperately. Murray had stormed out of the room after Emerson had called him a ‘psycho’ and hadn’t been back. Emerson had pulled himself up into a sitting position on the bed, back resting against the metal bed-head and his knees pulled up to his chin, the handcuffs not giving him much scope to move around. He had noticed that his feet had been bandaged and a drugged addled memory of broken glass and bloodied footprints explained why. They didn’t hurt so he guessed he hadn’t done any serious damage but it was his bladder now that was starting to hurt. He was almost relieved when he heard movement outside the closed door of the room and a key turning in the lock, despite the fact he didn’t want to spend any time with his kidnapper he really didn’t want to humiliate himself by wetting himself either.

As Murray stepped into the room Emerson said,

“I need to go to the toilet.”

“What for?” Murray asked, pausing at the open door.

Feeling his face colouring Emerson replied,

“A pee…I really need to go.”

Murray turned on his heel and left and Emerson nearly groaned out-loud thinking he was leaving him to make a mess of himself, but Murray quickly returned with a urinal bottle and holding it out to Emerson asked,

“You know how to use this?”

His time spent in hospital after being ‘striped’ by the Krays meant Emerson was all too aware of how to use the bottle. 

“I know how to use it but can’t you just release me and let me go to the loo, I promise I won’t try anything.”

Dropping the bottle on the bed by Emerson’s hand Murray sighed and said,

“I’d like to believe you but…just use the bottle and give me a shout when you’re done I’ll wait outside.”

Murray walked out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him. Emerson looked at the bottle and reluctantly picked it up and used it, a little awkwardly with only one hand, but he had to admit the relief was almost worth the humiliation he felt when he’d finished and called Murray back to take the bottle away. 

He heard a toilet flush close by and a tap running before Murray returned with a wet cloth and giving it to Emerson said,

“Here clean your hand off.”

While Emerson did that Murray stepped outside again but quickly returned with a tray which he placed on the bed as he sat in his chair next to the head of the bed.

“You must be hungry”, he stated.

Emerson had been about to deny this when his body had other ideas and the sight of the sandwiches and mugs of tea on the tray made his stomach growl loudly. Murray laughed and seeing Emerson’s hesitation reached out and took one of the sandwiches off the plate and took a large bite, speaking around the food in his mouth he said,

“I’m hardly going to go to all the trouble of bringing you here just to poison you with a ham sandwich.”

Swallowing down that mouthful he then reached out and snagging one of the mugs of tea took a loud slurp.

Another loud gurgle from his empty stomach convinced Emerson that Murray was telling the truth and reaching out he picked up half a sandwich and began eating surprised at how fast he managed to polish it off and was soon reaching for a second one. Murray smiled at him and sat back in his chair, hands wrapped around his mug of tea, occasional sipping it. He looked relaxed and Emerson decided that he needed to put some of the Met’s expensive hostage negotiation training to the test. So swallowing the last bit a sandwich he reached out and picked up he mug of tea from the tray blew on it before sipping a little the strong, hot liquid feeling good as it warmed it’s way to his, now full, stomach. ‘Hostage 101’ stated that if you found yourself in this situation you needed to start a dialogue with your kidnapper, make them see you as a person not just a means-to-an-end. People were harder to kill then anonymous victim – at least that was the theory. Emerson was also very much aware that he needed to buy himself time. Time for his team to find him. He knew that once he didn’t show up for work they would be concerned and was pretty sure that by now they were looking for him. Once it was realised that Murray was missing too he was sure that they would fit the pieces together and would find a way of tracking them down. For a moment his mind flitted back to his earlier fear of what Murray wanted to do to him and he saw Dr Llewellyn standing over his corpse laid out on her slab detailing what he’d gone though before his death as Chandler stood listening. He hurriedly pushed that thought away and taking a large gulp of tea turned to Murray asking,

“Where are we?”

Murray smiled and replied,

“Somewhere nice and quiet away from London. My aunt left it to me after she died a couple of years ago. I nearly sold the place but something made me hang onto it. I’m so glad I did, it’s the perfect place for us to be together. After you stop being silly and realise we belong together it’ll be great, just the two of us.”

“You say you love me,” Emerson replied, trying to choose his words carefully, “but that’s hard for me to understand when you have me chained up like this. If you let me go we could talk things through. You could explain things and then…”

Murray’s laugh, short and containing no real mirth, cut Emerson off,

“A couple of hours ago I was a “fucking psycho” and now you suddenly want to have a cosy chat.” Shaking his head he continued, “I wish I could believe you but I know you Emerson, better then you think. You need to learn that your place is here with me. You need to learn that we are meant to be together.” Smiling, his tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip Murray leaned forward and lowering his voice added, “You need to learn how good I can be to you, how much you’ll enjoy it.”

Emerson pulled away from Murray and for a moment the world tilted and he had to blink his eyes several time to get Murray’s face to keep still. The smile on Murray’s face widened into a grin and reaching out he took to nearly empty mug of tea from Emerson’s numb fingers saying,

“I wouldn’t poison you but a little something to make you relax, make you a little more co-operative, that I would do.”

Emerson shook his head and said “no”, at least he thought he did and from Murray’s laugh maybe he did, but he couldn’t be sure. He suddenly felt as if he was inside a Salvador Dali painting the world around him melting and becoming unstable, a rushing sensation in his ears, in his head. He needed to stay focused, to fight, but suddenly he couldn’t remember why, and the hand that stroked the side of his face felt nice, and the buzzing in his head got louder and suddenly Emerson felt like he was falling and there was no one there to catch him.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: - I own nothing I just borrow the characters to play with.  
Warning – Contains non-con.  
Author’s note – I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a review I really appreciate it. Thanks for sticking with the story and we’re nearly at the end, one or maybe two more chapters after this I think.

 

My Valentine – Chapter 6

He felt completely exposed, stripped naked and his limbs, feeling heavier then lead, refusing to move to allow him to attempt to restore some semblance of dignity, refusing to allow him to try and cover himself.

Fingertips skimming over his cold flesh leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. Fingertips skipping over his belly making the muscles under his skin flutter and dance in their wake, making his abuser chuckle. Fingertips dipping lower, between his legs, the grip firmer, skilled and knowing, arousing him against his will, leaving him powerless while inside his mind he screamed.

Pleasure should be shared, a gift exchanged between lovers not ripped from you against your will, making you feel weak and guilty, ashamed and dirty. The evidence of his weakness cooling against his skin marking him as tainted.

The body of his abuser draped over his, pushing him down into the mattress, smothering him, crushing him. He could feel the hard length rutting against his flesh, hear the grunts and groans of the other man as he used the unresponsive body beneath him to satisfy himself. Trying to distance himself from what was happening to him his mind tried to find a safe place to retreat to. He found a memory from when he was a child dressed in his Sunday best being taken with his sister to see his grandma. Sitting in the dining room trying not to fidget, bored listening to the grown-ups talking. His sister had been to the bathroom and on her way back had “accidently” let Pixie, grandma’s terrier, out of the kitchen where he was confined whenever they visited. The reason Pixie was never allowed out when they were there became evident when he made a bee-line for father’s leg and began shagging it in earnest while mother looked disgusted and a flustered grandma tried to prise the dog away. He remembered his sister’s giggles and his father’s muttered “disgusting animal” as Pixie was hurried away. Feeling his attacker spill himself over his body he found himself echoing his father’s words and whispering,

“Disgusting animal.”

The slap to his face stung, but the shower of unwanted kisses and murmured apologises hurt worse. With an effort he managed to turn his face away, feeling his tears wetting his cheeks, and looking towards the badly boarded up window, able to see a glimpse of the sky, Emerson wondered when it had gotten so dark.

 

Chandler sat at his desk looking out through the open door at the room beyond. A stillness seemed to have settled over everyone as the adrenaline of the last hours drained away and the stress of the proceeding 16 hours took its toll.

Forensics hadn’t found much at Kent’s flat, a couple of muddy foot prints just inside the front door which came from a size 9 work boot and a couple of black fibres caught on a piece of broken glass on the floor. The blood had all been the same blood group as Kent and although the bloody footprints made Chandler’s stomach clench with anxiety knowing that his youngest DC was hurt the amount suggested that he wasn’t badly hurt, at least not at the time he was taken. There was no forced entry it looked as though Kent had opened his door to his attacker and that was a puzzle. CCTV at the station showed that Kent had left late that night and so would not have gotten home until nearly midnight. His bed had been slept in so why would he let someone into his home in the early hours of the morning – either it was someone he knew or, if it was a stranger, for some reason he trusted them enough to open his door.

The team had searched Kent’s flat after SOCO had left. That had been difficult, searching through his things, invading his privacy but better them then total strangers. Some receipts stuffed into a drawer in the kitchen showed that Kent had had the lock on his front door changed and had bought the shiny new bolt and chain that could be seen on the inside of the door on the same day. The date on the receipt had been a month before and Chandler remembered that Kent had called in sick around then and a quick check had confirmed that the date of his ‘illness’ corresponded with the locksmith’s receipt and the receipt from the DIY store. 

The team returned to the station and found Buchan waiting for them.

“I heard DC Kent is missing, any news?” He asked.

Riley shook her head.

It was Miles who said,

“New door locks a month ago, wasn’t that when he seemed off?”

“Off, what do you mean, off?” Chandler asked.

It was Riley who answered,

“He was edgy, looked tired, like he wasn’t getting enough sleep. I was worried, he seemed down, but then whatever it was that was worrying him seemed to go away because he brighten up and was his normal self again. I thought I was fussing.”

“Maybe something was going on that he didn’t tell us about. Pulling a sicky and getting his locks changed all of a sudden, like he was worried about someone being able to get into his place.” Mansell said.

“But if he was worried about someone getting in then why did he open his door and let someone in?” Riley asked.

It was Buchan who supplied the most logical explanation when he said,

“There are some people we would all open our doors to, policemen for example. There was a case in Durham last year of a gang impersonating police officers to get people to open their doors then they burst in and rob them.”

“Makes sense,” Riley said, smiling slightly at Buchan, acknowledging his contribution.

That had been seven hours ago and since then despite the fact that every officer in the station who could be spared was working on this case it was as if DC Emerson Kent had vanished into thin air. Chandler could feel his head begin to throb as thoughts of what could be happening to his youngest team member began to surface, unbidden, in his mind. He was about to reach for his small pot of tiger balm when, in a re-run of what had happened that morning, he looked up to see a uniformed officer walking towards his office, a grim expression on his face. He met Inspector Fisher half way across the incident room and asked,

“What have you found?”

“Your office may be the best place to…”

Chandler interrupted him before he could finish,

“Just here is fine Inspector.”

Fisher paused for a moment but realising that Chandler wasn’t going to change his mind and acutely aware that every person in the room was now focused on him he sighed and said,

“Sergeant Murray didn’t show up for his shift and I couldn’t contact him, with what happened to DC Kent I ordered a couple of officers to his place and ….well I think we know now who has Kent.”

“Have you found him?” Riley’s voice was laced with fear.

“No…it’ll be easier if you see for yourselves. Here’s his address I’ll meet you there it’s only five minutes from the station, SOCO are already there.”

Author’s note – The case Buchan mentions is a real case from last November.


End file.
